Yuki and the Art of Writing
by peroxidepest17
Summary: My first Gravitation fic- a fluffy one shot. Yuki works on his latest novel while Shuichi is away.


Yuki and the Art of Writing   
**Author:** Celeste  
**Rating:** PG-13 for some foul language  
**Feedback:** keviesprincess@netscape.net  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own them! But I don't really think I could function in society if I _did_, because I would be at home all day making them snuggle. Heee!!  
**Summary:** My first Gravitation fic- a fluffy one shot. Yuki works on his latest novel while Shuichi is away.  
Dedication: To my girls at LA, because they have hopelessly corrupted me into the world of yaoi. My brain just doesn't function when two cute guys are cuddling anymore. Thanks for that…  
**Author's Notes**: Yay, my first Gravitation fic!! Also, un-beta'd...the horror! But I figure I'd put it up anyway since I haven't written anything that remotely constitutes as fic for the **LONGEST** time. *sweatdrop* Anyway, apologizes for any mistakes that I didn't catch, as well as any bastardization of the characterization, since I'm still relatively new to this fandom. *cough* Enjoy! Hopefully? Yes...

  


* * *

  
_Swathed in bandages. Remnants of blood on the floor, the steady background noise of monitors and displays and IVs and the ins and outs of tubes that had no business being there in the first place. He wondered grimly if she was still underneath it all somewhere, if the person he'd loved and destroyed still existed below the damage he'd caused, inside of the gauze and stitches, within the black void of her comatose unconscious. He wondered if she knew that she wouldn't be trapped under the weight of his mistakes for much longer, that soon she would be free. Free of him, free of this world in which he'd placed her, in which she'd allowed him to put her so trustingly…_

**RIIIIIIIIIIINNNG!!**

The corner of Yuki Eiri's eyes twitched in distant annoyance when the phone interrupted the smooth tapping of the keys and the subsequent appearance of text on the laptop in front of him. There was only one person who would have the unmitigated gall to call him at this hour… _**Brat!!**_

Just his luck that Shuichi would phone him right as he was about to get to the hero's heart-wrenching inner monologue as the love interest was killed off in an angst-ridden chapter of melodrama soaked with unnecessary gore and frustrating self-reprisals. That idiot had the worst timing, really… gone on tour for only two days now and every time the vocalist had called it was always in the middle of Yuki actually sitting down to try and get some work done while there was some peace and quiet to be had during the brat's absence. He had a deadline, dammit! _**The idiot.**_

**RIIIIIIIIIIINNNG!!**

He glared in the general direction of the phone; some part of him hoping that it would catch sight of the irritation so clearly written on his features and be silenced out of sheer intimidation. It worked on most people. 

**RIIIIIIIIIIINNNG!!**

Well, if it wouldn't be scared into silence, then he'd ignore it. It would stop eventually. 

He moved to return to his work, rereading the last few lines he'd written before he'd completely lost his rhythm to the disruptive noise. It was hard enough to write romance as it was, and all these distractions were seriously weighing on his already thin patience. Writing love stories was so boring. Yuki's only satisfaction came from the fact that in the end, he could sever the relationship between hero and heroine in the most sadistic, psychologically painful, and gratuitously violent means imaginable. It was the build-up that had been difficult for him, and he was finally past that, having worked himself up into a particularly foul mood by writing nearly three entire chapters which involved nothing but disgusting sap and numerous vivid groping sessions between the characters. Now he could channel all the negative energy that had built up during that time into the fall out. In other words, now came the fun part. He allowed himself to cackle mentally, picturing the surprise of the millions of readers who had been swooning right up until this part of the story, having been lulled into a false sense of security by letting themselves get lost in the soppy joy of true love and all the clichés that accompanied it. It was time to bring reality crashing back down on them, here in the climax he'd so maliciously manipulated them into. 

He liked crushing their hopes that way.

There wouldn't be any sudden miracles, no prayer-induced overnight phenomenon in which the female character would wake up after a fervent confession from the formerly aloof, insensitive boyfriend. There'd be no teary reunion, no vows of future happiness and eternal love upon her return, like he'd coaxed the readers into believing was possible. No, Yuki Eiri's book would end in cold detachment, the sterility of the hospital room permeating the tone of the last few pages, the parting of lovers taken care of so indelicately that the readers whom had entrusted him with their fragile belief system surrounding the strength of love would shatter, a rude wake-up call executed so masterfully that critics could only comment on the artistic merits while internally screaming at the gaping void of sheer uselessness regarding existence the story had made them feel. 

Yuki liked having that kind of control over the world. It was why he wrote in the first place. His novels allowed him to create his own universes, where everything fell into place as he desired it, where characters performed acts at his beck and call, where time was his pawn, and where events played out only as he wished them to, away from the meddlesome tinkering of entities of ambiguous existence such as fate and destiny. 

The way he figured it, he'd had little enough control over his own life as it was. At least in the pages of his novels, there was no unpredictability, no twists and turns he hadn't created himself. Here, he had the power to do whatever he wanted. 

And while he was at it, he got to cater to his inner sadist. 

Really, there was nothing better. 

**RIIIIIIIIIIINNNG!!**

He ground his jaw a little when he realized the phone was still ringing. Speaking of uncontrollable forces in his life…didn't that little idiot know when to just hang up? _**Dammit, I'm trying to work here!**_

Resolved to _completely_ ignore the phone now, as well as for the rest of the week in retribution for his boyfriend's disturbing him from his work _once again_, Yuki continued to stare at the laptop screen, in search of the burnt out remnants from the train of thought that had crashed and exploded upon Shuichi's ill-timed interruption. 

The heroine was going to _die_.

_Free of him, free of this world in which he'd placed her, in which she'd allowed him to put her so trustingly, free from everything. Free to fly, like she of all people deserved. He wouldn't tether her here any longer. His hand reached out for her respirator. It was steady, no more shaking, no more hesitation. Soon the smell of death would accompany the blood and disinfectant of this place, and everything would come full circle once more. _

"No more…" he whispered as his hand wrapped around the plug. "It's over." 

There were no tears in his eyes. He felt nothing as he prepared to end his lover's life, only empty. Soon she would be lost to him forever…

**CLICK**

Yuki's eyes narrowed dangerously when he heard the answering machine pick up. Apparently the idiot didn't have the sense to just hang up and leave him be. Shuichi had called just last night, for crying out loud. _**What on earth could have happened in the last 12 hours that could possibly require the brat to relay the whole account to someone RIGHT NOW regardless of whether I'm here to listen or not?**_

Eiri sighed.

And once more, the heroine stole a few more minutes of precious life.

"Yuuuuukiiiiii!! Yukiyukiyukiyuki! Where are you?! Pick up! Pick up! Ne… how come you never pick up?" Shuichi whined from the other side, voice distorted slightly by the answering machine and the distance. "Oh well…I guess you're busy. I just wanted to let you know that we got to Korea okay! K's checking us into the hotel now so I have a little free time before we drop our things off and head to the arena. The plane ride was sooooo long! And Hiro stole my peanuts. Meeeaaan!! Um…I guess I'll call again after the show. Don't drink too much!! Get some real food! I'll be home in a week! I MISSS YOU!!! I love you, Yuki!! Bye-bye!" 

**CLICK**

Yuki pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and let out an uncharacteristic groan of frustration at hearing Shuichi's voice over the answering machine. He could just picture the brat's huge shiny eyes and the bubbles that floated up around him in the background as he spoke. Did that idiot have to sound so…_cute?_

Well. There went that. 

The novelist glared balefully at the computer screen. 

She was still going to die, dammit. 

She was.

He sat in the dark office, scowling at the screen with his most evil eyes-of-death for a few more minutes. It looked back at him in silent, fearless ridicule.

Definitely a battle no one here was going to win. 

Yuki sighed, hit save, and shut the computer down, closing it with a look of utter disgust, though truth be told he was more irked with himself than the computer. But no one had asked, so it didn't matter, and he'd glare at whoever or whatever he wanted to, dammit.

Getting up, he padded out of the office and into the kitchen in search of a beer or two…or six. Finding only one left, he snatched it up and cracked it open a little maliciously. He took a sip before deciding nicotine was better suited to ease his frustration than alcohol anyway and began patting himself down in search of his cigarettes as he headed for the living room. 

Plopping down gracelessly on the couch, he lit up and he shot another glare at the answering machine as passed by, the shine of the blinking red light telling him he had a new message.

Shuichi was one of those things that he _didn't_ have control of in his world, not like in his stories where he could giddily kill off whomever he wanted in horrible, horrible ways. Sometimes the fact that he didn't have that kind of power with Shuichi bothered him so much that he'd lash out at the singer, as if to assert to himself and anyone watching that he did have some sort of say over what happened, that he really was his own master. 

It was all kind of lame and childish when he thought about it. 

But he didn't really want to think about it now. 

Resolved, he decided to leave it at the fact that he had absolute power when it came to his stories, and none whatsoever when it came to his annoying, loudmouthed, idiotic boyfriend. Maybe if he resigned himself to the fact he wouldn't get so many headaches over the whole thing. And hey… two things on the plus side. One, he was about to sever one of his all time greatest romances with extreme malice (she was going to _die_!!)and two, it wasn't like he had to listen to what Shuichi told him _all_ the time... especially when the brat wasn't here. _**So hah.**_

Suddenly recalling Shuichi's giddily shouted message at the tail end of that thought, he rubbed at his temple in irritation. 

He really didn't understand how someone could be so grating…shouting out advice to him like he couldn't take care of himself while the brat was away. _**You'd think I'd never lived on my own before him or something. I did.**_

Yuki glowered some more. 

_"Don't drink too much!!"_

Looking down at the beer in his hand, he rebelliously downed half of it as he recalled Shuichi's sing-song-sweet voice. _**Hah…who's in control now?**_

_"Get some real food!"_

There was instant Ramen in the cupboard. It's not like it could technically be called _fake_ food. 

_"I'll be home in a week! I MISSS YOU!!! I love you, Yuki!! Bye-bye!"_

As he replayed Shuichi's words in his head, he grunted angrily and doused his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table before turning on the TV, not bothering with the lights. The two day deadline for the novel's first draft was still there, looming over his shoulder like a specter, but he ignored it and stared blankly at the glowing TV screen as he smoked, and drank, and mentally decided whether he wanted shrimp or chicken ramen for dinner.

It wasn't like he had the power to do anything about the book now anyway.

Thanks to the brat, it would take him at least several hours to build up another bad mood severe enough to write that damn death scene.

And she _was_ going to die, dammit.

**END**


End file.
